Bianchi 220 Freeda d'Oro
The famous Bianchi name adorns this beautiful small bike that carried many an Italian in the 1930s, including one Benito Mussolini
This famous cycling name was Italy's premier motorcycle, too
THE PRECISE DATE SEEMS TO BE UNCLEAR, BUT some time in 1932, and in an act of pure nationalist propaganda, Benito Mussolini was photographed on a motorcycle, and proclaimed 'Primo Motociclista' or 'First Motorcyclist' of Italy. He was awarded membership number one of the 'Mato Club d'Italia', and the motorcycle was given the numberplate '1 Roma' both in reality just empty gestures considering that thousands of Italian motorcycles had already been designated their registration numbers, and many of their riders were already signed up members of the Moto Club d'Italia by 1932.
The motorcycle used to establish '11Duce' number one Italian motorcyclist on was a 1931 Bianchi 175 Freeda d'Oro. Bianchi were the old and first masters ofltalian motorcycle manufacturing, its founder, Eduardo Bianchi, having attached an engine to one of his bicycles back in 1897; so by the early 1930s were a well-established company. Frera, another grand Italian manufacturer with a story that went back to 1905, also made fine motorcycles, producing 50,000 units in the 1920s, but the economic crisis bit hard - and it is thought that the photo of Mussolini on a Bianchi tipped the balance the wrong way. By 1939 Frera was no more, but Bianchi was lauded as the 'Grande Casa Nazionale' until their factory was wiped out by Allied bombs in 1943.
The Bianchi name lived on through its cycling exploits with the multi-time champion Fausto Coppi, and continues to do so today. Its motorcycles too continued to sell after the war until production was ceased in 1964,but the Freeda d'Oro is a sought after motorcycle from a golden era of Italian motorcycle manufacturing. The very nicely restored Freeda d'Oro I have the pleasure to ride is a Freeda d'Oro 220cc Turismo from 1934, a bored out version of the 1932 model and no doubt devised to ride the wave of Bianchi nationalist popularity afforded by the Mussolini photo opportunity, as well as taking advantage of a new up to 250cc tax exemption.
Owner and restorer is Antonio Fulceri, whose collection includes a tasty selection of Italian motorcycles of all ages, but it wasn't a model he was particularly searching for.
"Back in 1999 I had met, through a friend, a person called Alessandro, an engineer who worked at the European Space Centre. We had a common passion for old cars and bikes, and he let on that he had the remains of a Laverda 750 SFin his garage in Rome, and would I like to rebuild it and restore if for him? I agreed, but then when went to pick up the bike, I also spotted the Bianchi in a corner, and was smitten by it."
No surprise, as the now beautifully restored
Bianchi is a very attractive motorcycle. Its chromeladen fuel tank is adorned with gold pin-striping, flashes of glossy black paint, and the distinctive gold arrow with blue trim striking through the Bianchi logo.There is nothing remarkable about the technical design of the Bianchi and is typical for the time rigid open cradle frame, sprung girder forks, and a four-stroke 220cc overhead valve single cylinder motor with a separate three-speed box operated by hand - but its elegant simplicity was what appealed to buyers. For today's rider, the exposed valve springs, fishtail silencer, Bosch magneto and long tankmounted hand gear change lever make you think vintage motorcycle, but at the same time a cable throttle, neat bar-mounted chrome horn switch and integrated headlamp ammeter are all thoroughly •
modern. Interestingly enough, the nationalist fervour that existed in the 1930s that extended even to banning the use of foreign products hadn't quite affected Bianchi by the time this Freeda d'Oro was built; the cylindrical rear light is a proud 'British made' Miller product, the carburettor is an Amal, and the ammeter is a Smiths unit with 'Made in England' printed on its face. Amals would soon be mandatorily replaced by very Italian Dell'Ortos, 'inglese' Smiths by Veglia and John Bull rubber grips by Italian rubber components.
Alessandro struck a deal with Antonio, offering the Bianchi as part payment in return for Antonio getting the Laverda SFback on the road. "That was fine by me, as he was more passionate about big bikes from the 1970s, and I liked the Bianchi very much. It also had all its original documents from new, which in Italy is an important issue, because it's difficult to get an old bike back on the road without them. Without a doubt this Bianchi would have been hidden well during the war as otherwise it would have been undoubtedly requisitioned."
Antonio shows me the yellowed, Sellotaped original logbook for the Bianchi, which shows that it had only had a couple of owners from the Rome area, which corresponds to its Rome registration plate. ''.Alessandro told me he had originally bought the Bianchi back in 1960, by literally accosting the then owner who had come to a halt at a junction astride the machine, and asking him ifhe would sell, which he did!" From that point on, the Bianchi remained in Alessandro's garage, in original and more or less complete condition.
"Restoring the Bianchi didn't really present any particular problems," says Antonio, "though the cylinder was worn and did need a new liner. The rest of it was in good condition and needed little work, so it was more or less a case of changing the required bearings and rebuilding with a new gasket set. Rechroming a fuel tank is never easy but this one has come out beautifully, and really set off by the paint and pin-striping carried out by a local expert."
Finishing his explanation of the Bianchi, Antonio then surprises me by saying: "Right, help yourselves, I have to get back to work, so enjoy yourself," and he departs, leaving me, photographer Marco and friend and fixer Nedo slightly shocked but happy at the prospect of a sunny day and several beautiful Italian motorcycles with the keys in them to try out.
It also helps that where Antonio lives is just off an old winding coastal road that runs from Livorno all the way to Rome, ideal for testing the Bianchi.
The Freeda d'Oro starts easily enough, using a touch of the air lever on the right-hand bar, the ignition retard/advance on the left-hand bar, and a hefty kick on the right-hand side mounted and non-folding kick-start lever. This bike runs a total loss lubrication system so I check through the glass of the curiously named Hajot Simplex Mk2 oil pump, actuated off the end of the Bosch magneto and featuring a dial to control the oil flow - and am content to see the black stuff trickling through happily.
The pushrod operated valves and their springs chatter in the open air and I'm half tempted to remove the nickel-plated cover that hides the rockers arms, but decide against it. It's a lovely sounding motor, mechanical and mellow at the same time.
I head off towards the coastal road, getting used to the Bianchi and its foibles, if any. I love hand gear change motorcycles, there's so much pleasure to be gained from changing gear smoothly and from the ritual that it involves and that smidgeon of danger by taking your hand off the handlebar for a second or two. The Bianchi gearbox is quite smooth, the clutch light and smooth, and I enjoy getting up some speed and into third gear. The road is fringed by pine trees and large, beautiful art nouveau villas on one side, and the bright blue sea on the other, and a smattering of 1930s Art Deco, or 'fascist era' buildings such as the local railway station also appear - things haven't changed much here over the decades, and the Bianchi's 1930s lines fit in perfectly. When I enter a small, pretty and very posh seaside town, the Bianchi turns heads with its flashing chrome, old-timer looks and distinctive exhaust note.
Even though the state of the Italian A and Broads isn't great, the Bianchi's suspension copes very well. The large and wide seat is generously sprung so the rider doesn't really feel what the rigid rear end is doing. The front girder forks are equipped with a large and long spring and friction dampers, and they are good - only in bigger unavoidable potholes do they jar slightly. The magnificent knurled steering damper with enamelled Bianchi logo is all that I can see looking down, apart from the ammeter of course, but it's enough to remind you that what you're riding has class and a refined finish. The brakes are small but adequate for the power the engine provides - it's a torquey little motor and most enjoyable in third gear at speeds of between 35 and 50mph.
In the days when there was less traffic, the Bianchi would have been a perfectly adequate lightweight performer for most, and it was a best seller helped by its very good all-round performance against price. •
Like most good singles it does vibrate slightly, and after some spirited riding along a superb, long, empty stretch of road, I tum around and at that moment look down towards the wooden pommel of the gear lever, and am horrified to see the chrome screw that holds it on spinning furiously having somehow unscrewed itself missing - gone. In fact, the three of us spend the next half-hour scrabbling in the roadside and gutters trying to find the screw and washer that had probably been on the Bianchi since it left the factory in Milan in 1934,but to no avail - I feel like a vandal.
We get back, photos taken, and I confess nervously to Antonio about the screw, and he's absolutely fine about it - "no problem, I'll get another," he laughs.
"I admit that I love this bike, and now as my friend Alessandro sadly died in 2004 it has taken on more of a sentimental part of my collection. I also admit that I only get to ride it maybe three or four times a year, but when I do, it reminds me what a satisfying ride it is. It's light, agile, and has a lovely sound, and a carefully thought out design. I have to agree, and it's easy to understand how the Freccia d'Oro sold so well in the 1930s. C!!iIB